Priority
by TheBlueFoxtrot A Samba
Summary: After a time, two people can start to drift apart. It's always sad when that happens. Of course, that doesn't happen here.


The Letter 'N' for Nostalgia is brought to you today by Kazoo Productions ™

Remy watched his wife wash the dishes from where he leaned against the door jamb. She hadn't noticed him, never could unless he wanted her to. Her two tone hair was pulled back into a low pony tail. She was wearing one his over-sized shirts that dwarfed her slim frame. The jeans she wore hugged firm legs.

He brought a hand up to rub against the stubble on his chin as he considered that, well into her forties, Rogue was still gorgeous. He himself was almost fifty and still could draw a lasting glance from passerby. Problem was, he was starting to return those glances. And he didn't think Rogue had noticed. There was a time she would have said some snide remark to try and mask her hurt and jealousy. Over time that had turned into routine teasing. Now, it was nothing.

Far from being stupid, he was aware that things were not necessarily all right in the Lebeau home. There was a time when he was completely enraptured with her. Never would he have ever even entertained the thoughts he was having now. No, he hadn't done anything, but he'd thought them. Thinking it was the first step.

He would never hurt Rogue. He loved her more than anything. But things with them had…settled. They didn't talk like they use to. They didn't care to. And he didn't know why or when this had started in their marriage. This distance between them was not something he liked. It scared him a little.

Fortunately for them, Ragin' Cajun never backed down from anything.

Remy pushed himself off the wall and quietly sauntered behind Rogue. His lips quirked up into a smirk at how she jumped when he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her back to him. He lowered his head and planted a kiss in her hair.

"What are ya doin'?"

He chuckled without humor at the suspicion in her voice. He brought his head down to rest on her shoulder and gave her a peck on the cheek.

"Lil' bit of dis, lil' bit of dat. I been wonderin' somethin', chere."

After a pause broken only with the sound of washing dishes, Rogue realized she was supposed to cue him.

"And what would that be?"

"Why don' we dance anymore?"

She turned confused green eyes to his red and black.

"I'm not okay wit' dat."

He drew back and turned her around, placing a kiss on one soapy hand before positioning it on his shoulder. He put on hand around her waist, and the other hand kept a hold on hers. As he led her through a waltz, he hummed a song to her.

"Remy, w-"

"Shh! Can' hear de music, chere."

"I need to –"

"Listen to ya husband? Too true."

She arched a brow and narrowed her eyes. He looked at her with a fond smile.

"Humor dis ol' Cajun, hein?"

Rogue merely rolled her eyes.

"Ya ain't got that many years left, so why not?"

Her words were softened by a smile of her own. They continued to dance for a few minutes. Remy held no beliefs that this would fix everything, but it was a start. And a pleasant one at that. He made a familiar move that Rogue recognized and immediately put a stop to.

"Don't you dare dip me!"

"I ain't gonna drop ya."

"No, but you'll have me break my back. Not all of us have insane exercising practices."

"Oh, please! If you're slim enough to still fit in dose leather Siren pants, then ya can do a dip."

"No," she told him firmly.

"Oui," he replied charmingly.

"No."

"Oui."

"No."

"Oui."

"No."

"Non."

"Yeah."

"Okay!"

Before she fully registered it, Remy was leaning her backwards and bringing her back up.

"How's ya back, chere?"

"I hate you."

"J'taime aussi," he told her, pressing a kiss to her lips. He made to pull back but her hands in his hair convinced him otherwise.

Lip-locked and oblivious is how their two children found them.

"Oh, for the love of – Will you people get a room?" cried the eldest, a tall, auburn and white headed boy who'd inherited his mama's eyes.

He and the other were unacknowledged.

"It's like watchin' deux seals fightin' over a grape," observed their daughter, who was a mix of them both with green on black eyes.

Remy broke off the kiss reluctantly.

"You deux will have to fend for yourselves t'night. Me and ya mama goin' out."

He returned his attention to his wife when she poked him in the chest.

"When were ya gonna ask me?"

"Ya know, I'd actually planned it before the making out."

"That wasn't askin'."

"Roguey, mon coeur, will ya go dancin' wit' moi t'night?"

She bit her lip and tilted her head as if thinking about it.

"Fine."

"Bon," he said grinning. He looped her arm though his and led her upstairs. "'Ey, chere, could ya wear dat one bra with all the red in it?"

"Can't. You ripped it, remember?" Rogue asked, sending him a wicked smile.

Almost identical brother and sister watched their parents walk up the stairs, giggling and blushing and leering.

"Y'all are so gross," their daughter muttered darkly.

"I'm gonna hurl," their son agreed.

* * *

11/17/2010

The lines "Why don't we dance anymore/I'm not okay with that" are lyrics taken from Needtobreathe's song Stones Under Rushing Waters.

This has to be a record of the most stuff posted in a day. And I'm not done yet, folks!


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